


Two Blue Lips

by BulletBlaze



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, I'm probably forgetting something, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, a different take on the, because he is always an alpha in my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletBlaze/pseuds/BulletBlaze
Summary: The thoughts came unbidden to him at the most random of times, appearing behind his eyes and making their home there for hours on end.He stopped going to lacrosse practice after imagining what it would feel like to drive the end of his stick through Danny’s eye.He stopped hanging out with Scott the first time the words in his book flowed into visions of shooting him with his father’s gun just to hear Melissa scream.He stopped attending pack meetings in the wake of an hour-long scenario in his head in which he dug up the corpses of Erica and Boyd and dragged them into the loft with him, recalling all the gruesome details of their deaths as Derek broke down.He stopped sleeping, because- as bad as the visions were- the dreams were worse.





	Two Blue Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Um, hi.  
> It's been a while since I've posted a (decent) fic, but here I am! and hopefully this is okay.  
> Not beta read, so all mistakes are my own. I didn't even proofread it, so be warned.  
> The title comes from the songs Two by the Antlers and Blue Lips by Regina Spektor, which I listened to exclusively while writing this.

“I think he’s waking up!”

_ Don’t wake up, Stiles. _

“His heart is beating faster.”

_ You don’t want them to know, do you? _

“His finger moved! Did you see? It moved!”

_ What you’ve dreamt? _

“Someone get Deaton, hurry!”

_ What you’ve seen? _

“He’s breathing way too fast.”

_ What you’ve wished? _

“Shit, I think he’s panicking!”

“Stiles, buddy, we’ve got you.”

“You’re safe.”

“You have to wake up!”

_ Just let me in, and they won’t ever have to know. _

_ It can be our secret. _

_ Don’t wake up, Stiles. _

_ Let me in. _

“Wake up!”

 

___

 

_ Stiles knew that something was wrong with him. _

_ Ever since the sacrifice, the nemeton, he’d had this weird feeling. A sort of cramped feeling in his brain; only, it wasn’t physical. _

_ It was hard for him to think on a regular day, but now it was almost impossible. What used to be recently acquired knowledge and formulated strategies distracting him from his classes was being slowly taken over by intrusive thoughts of the darkest nature. _

_ Now, Stiles was under no delusion that he was pure in any sense of the word. Even before his mother died, he’d been kind of a morbid kid- his obsessions with killing bugs and picking scabs and poking bruises far surpassing those of his peers. The too early loss of his mom had only focused said obsessions on the grittier aspects of life. _

_ But it was never like  _ this.

_ He’d never wondered what it would be like to strangle Lydia’s dog in front of her before. _

_ Or to suffocate his father in the middle of the night while he slept. _

_ Or to set Derek’s loft on  _ fire _ with him inside. _

_ The thoughts came unbidden to him at the most random of times, appearing behind his eyes and making their home there for hours on end. _

_ He stopped going to lacrosse practice after imagining what it would feel like to drive the end of his stick through Danny’s eye. _

_ He stopped hanging out with Scott the first time the words in his book flowed into visions of shooting him with his father’s gun just to hear Melissa scream. _

_ He stopped attending pack meetings in the wake of an hour-long scenario in his head in which he dug up the corpses of Erica and Boyd and dragged them into the loft with him, recalling all the gruesome details of their deaths as Derek broke down. _

_ He stopped sleeping, because- as bad as the visions were- the dreams were worse. _

_ Filled with blood and carnage and fire and cries for help that Stiles  _ laughed at _ and- _

_ Something was wrong. _

_ Something  _ had  _ to be wrong. _

_ Because this wasn’t Stiles, was it? He would never want to know these things- how they looked, how they  _ felt.

_ He  _ couldn’t.

_ Could he? _

_ The doubt shook him to his very core. Had all these months of horror morphed him into someone else? Someone who took delight in the pain of his friends, his family? Someone who longed to feel the life leave those he thought he held dear, just to experience the surprise and betrayal and  _ hurt _ in their eyes before they went blissfully blank? _

_ He still went to school. Avoided the eyes of his friends unless they needed him. Helped the pack kill monsters whose minds were probably less tainted than his own. _

_ It made him wonder if he had the right. _

_ The pack all watched as he pulled away, tried to reach out, to hold him in, but he wouldn’t have it. _

_ His mind was a dangerous place now, and it was only a matter of time before something happened. _

_ He could feel it- his mind wearing thin. It was like the Fates were stretching his string as tight as they possibly could before cutting it. _

_ Stiles wished they would just do it already, because he was tired of this. Tired of everything. _

 

___

 

It was too bright- his eyes burned. There was nothing to see past the glaring white that filled up every corner of his vision, too much after the black and red that had filled his head, and it burned. The sensation crawled into his brain, sinking its claws deep into the tissue before forcing its way down his throat. It went further, and further, and further, until his calves cramped and his toes felt like ice, they were so hot.

He wondered if this was what Peter felt like all those years, trapped in the fires of his house and his head, no way to move, to fight, to escape.

He almost understood the man, now.

And then it was gone, doused out, leaving him frozen with a shriek filling his ears- so loud he wasn’t sure if it was actually real, because nothing could really be that loud, could it?

Through the cold sweat that was drowning him alive, all of his nerves centered in on his arm, clenching against the sharp stab that felt oddly familiar, but no more comforting.

His toes melted as lukewarm water flooded his veins, relaxing his muscles and pulling against the contraction of his throat until the shriek abruptly cut out, leaving only a light ringing in its wake, and had that awful noise come from him?

He didn’t have time to find out, because the white was fading back to black, and he barely had the chance to pray for the absence of red this time before it drowned out everything else and he sank back into his mind’s abyss.

 

___

 

_ Derek almost died one night. _

_ It wasn’t like it was the first time, nor would it be the last, but this time it was different. _

_ Because, this time, Stiles thought about not saving him. _

_ It was just a moment- a  _ second _ of hesitation, because as much as his head wanted to torture him, it could never convince him to turn his back on Derek. He’d loved the man for far too long to force the thought into action. _

_ But it was enough for Stiles to feel the horror of almost being swayed by that awful voice inside him, telling him Derek would never love him anyway, so why did it matter? _

_ He’d imagined hurting Derek before- more times than he could comprehend- but he knew in his soul that he would never act on any of it.  _

_ Until that night. _

_ And it was killing him. _

_ Just a second. One god damned second of waiting, of watching Derek cry out from the wolfsbane seeping up his side towards his heart, before he finally moved to help. _

_ He had waited, and Derek had noticed. Called out for him, for  _ help.

_ It wasn’t just his mind that was dangerous, now; it was him.  _ He  _ was dangerous. _

_ The pack didn’t need any more betrayals, anymore undeserved pain. And Stiles would never forgive himself if he was the cause of it. _

_ Stiles barely took in the absence of his father’s car as he walked numbly up the driveway, turned his key in the lock, slid down to the floor after closing the door. His backside was numb by the time he forced himself onto shaky legs and climbed the stairs, heading straight to the bathroom. _

_ It should’ve been harder, he thought. It should have taken convincing. It shouldn’t have been so easy to grab the Adderall and Prozac from the bathroom cabinet and tilt the bottles into his mouth, to swallow the pills dry, press a hand over his mouth to keep from gagging. _

_ It should have been harder. _

_ But it wasn’t. It was the easiest thing he had ever done. _

_ Tears welled up in his eyes, but they didn’t fall. They just sat there. He didn’t have the energy to blink them away. _

_ He’d barely sat back on the cold tile of the bathroom floor when he was suddenly throwing himself forward, arms banging painfully against the seat of the toilet, and his hand was moving towards his face, two fingers outstretched beyond the rest, and  _ no,  _ Stiles wasn’t doing this, he didn’t  _ want this,  _ so why couldn’t he stop it? _

_ He fought against his own hand that was trying to save him, why wouldn’t it listen to him? _

_ He just wanted it to be done. _

_ He yelled and gagged and bit around the fingers that were shoved down his throat, felt the slippery skin around them spasm and his stomach clench, felt the pills push back up around his hand and he tried to push them back down even as they spilled out from the corners of his mouth and dropped with little splashes into the water below him. The tears rushed down his cheeks and they wouldn’t stop, they wouldn’t  _ stop,  _ even after there was a small mountain of the little tablets under him and his other hand, the one not covered in spit and bile and a little bit of blood, flushed them down the drain where he couldn’t reach them. _

_ He cried and cried and cried, collapsed back to the ground, shook and hit his head against the floor. _

_ He only stopped when the world started to turn black, eyes closing against the spots swimming in front of him, hands clenched over his ears as a voice that wasn’t his whispered inside his head, _

We’re not done with you yet, Stiles.

 

___

  
  


It was too warm.

His limbs were sweating, but when he tried to move them he discovered that they were trapped against his body. He struggled to free them- god, he  _ hated _ being trapped- and a low whine escaped his throat when he couldn’t quite manage it.

There was some sort of quiet commotion going on beyond his eyelids, he could hear the shuffling and footsteps and voices, but none of that mattered until he could move.

Stiles knew he was panicking, knew that he should stop struggling and take stock of the situation, but it was out of his control.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders and he fought them, thrashed and tried to kick, but his legs were bound, too, so he yelled instead.

The hands multiplied, covered his entire body, and while they suffocated him even more, they also brought a sort of comfort. They weren’t trying to hurt him- they were trying to keep him from hurting himself.

Slowly, so slowly, Stiles forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it. He held it and held it and held it until his body stopped thrashing, and then he released it.

The hands that had been holding him were stroking, caressing, carding through his hair, pulling at whatever was keeping him encased.

Soothing him. And it was working.

Stiles stole himself and opened his eyes.

 

___

 

_ The voice haunted him all night, taking form in a commentary over his already horrific dreams, telling Stiles how good it would feel to do this in real life. How liberating it would be to get revenge on the people he had saved time and time again, the people who never seemed to care. _

_ He woke up still on the bathroom floor feeling sick to his stomach. _

_ Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because of what he had almost done the night before or the visions that followed. _

_ A fumbling look at his phone told him that it was 8:48. He was late for school. _

_ He was still tired. Besides, the thought of even caring about school with everything else going on was almost laughable. _

_ Almost. _

_ Taking the day off was an easy decision. He doubted anyone would even notice. _

_ All he wanted was to sleep. But he didn’t want the dreams. _

_ After his mom died, Stiles would get horrible nightmares. She would slap him across the face and tell him it was all his fault. His father would drunkenly yell that the child was ruining his life and throw half empty bottles of whiskey at his head. _

_ When he was still waking up screaming months after Claudia’s death, Melissa advised a mild sleeping pill that would hopefully knock him out enough that he wouldn’t dream at all. _

_ They had worked mostly. _

_ Surely they had some sort of sleeping meds on hand. _

_ The battle of getting to his feet was one that only served to drain him further, but he somehow managed. Bottles and boxes were knocked to the side, clattering to the floor as Stiles looked for something he could take. Finally, he found a small bottle that could’ve been over-the-counter, but he didn’t care. He forced some into his mouth without counting them and turned towards the door, caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. _

_ He was a fucking wreck. _

_ Bile stained his shirt darker at the collar and he could feel where it had seeped through onto his skin. His hair was mussed, sticking up and crusty where his hands had pressed against it. Blood and dirt drew lines up his arms from the fight the previous night. Jesus, it was only last night. It felt weeks away already. _

_ His clothes made a smacking noise as they hit the tile, and the water was cold as Stiles stepped in without waiting for it to heat up. It was kind of nice. Refreshing in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, so he didn’t go to turn it up. He would only be in there a few minutes, anyway. _

_ After half-heartedly scrubbing at his skin and head for a moment, Stiles’ head swam. Stomach clenched painfully, he tried to remember the last time he had eaten, but nothing came to him. _

_ Oh well, he thought, he’d have something after he slept some more. _

_ He’d barely had the thought when his head swam again, and his body did, too. He registered that he was falling, but couldn’t do anything as his head hit the side of the tub and his vision went out, cold water beating against his prone body. _

_ He didn’t have it in him to feel particularly worried, so he went under without a fuss. _

 

___

 

When his eyes opened, all the lights in the room exploded.

The wolves took cover as glass shards rained down, and a firm body threw itself over his own face, protecting him.

Once the danger passed, the body lifted, revealing Derek’s concerned face hovering over him. A large hand settled gently on his cheek, rubbing back and forth, draining a dull ache Stiles didn’t even realize was permeating every inch of his body.

With a cursory look around the room, he took note of the entire pack standing around the table he was laying on in, of fucking course, the clinic. There were blankets hanging off the edge, trapped between his body and the metal under him, obviously having been what had kept him from moving before. There was an IV standing innocently off to the side of him, and Stiles remembered the prick he had felt in his arm earlier.

The only light in the room was coming through the windows at the top of the walls, what with all the other lights having been blown out by…

Actually, he wasn’t sure.

Just as he was about to ask, his eyes landed on the figure standing at the foot of the table, clutching his ankles in a way that spelled bruises for future him.

His dad.

Stiles slowly sat up, surprised at the lack of pain, and tried to find the right words. When his mouth finally opened, however, all that came out was a choked sob.

The next second, Derek was pushed to the side and his father’s arms were wrapped tightly around him, squeezing until they were all he could feel.

Stiles hugged him back, and something broke inside of him.

The pack pushed back forward, everyone getting a hand on him- hugging and shushing and crying- and he felt such an immense wave of love and longing wash over him, he thought it would suffocate him.

“I-” his own cry cut him off, and the touching around him intensified.

“I’m so-sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry, please-”

Hands cupped his cheeks and forced him to look back at his father, tears flowing down both their cheeks like rivers.

“Don’t be sorry, son, you did nothing wrong.”

Stiles wanted to tell him how wrong he was, wanted to tell him everything wrong he had done, but he was selfish. He was so selfish and he wanted to hold onto this for just a little while longer, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I love you so much, kid, so much. You need some more rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up, I promise.”

The pack all nodded, squeezing him where their hands were laying.

Stiles let his dad and Derek lay him back down and closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at them- especially Derek. Not after everything.

 

___

 

Stiles dreamed, but this time it was different.

It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a memory.

_ His body was cold, freezing. His head was pounding and voices were shouting as hands lifted him from beneath the pressure that was stinging lightly against his numb skin. Above everything, though, was the voice in his head. _

You’re so weak, Stiles. Can’t even handle a little water, can you? Have to let them save you. I wonder if they’ll regret saving you once they find out what you’ve been thinking about them. I wonder if they’ll let you die. If they’ll kill you themselves.

_ “We have to get him to Deaton. Something’s not right.” _

_ “Yeah, something’s not right, he’s dying! His lips are blue, oh god, he’s not even shaking...” _

_ “There’s something else, something not natural. Call Melissa, have her meet us at the clinic. Tell her he’s hypothermic.” _

_ There was a beat of tense silence. _

_ “Scott!” _

_ “Okay, I’m calling! Just… save him. Please, Derek, you have to save him.” _

_ “We will, but only if you get your mom.” _

_ Stiles drifted just above unconsciousness as- he assumed- Derek carried him down the stairs and out to a car. Something wrapped around him and then he was being laid out in the backseat. Even in his state, Stiles could tell that the car was going far faster than anything close to legal. _

_ His Sourwolf- always a worrier. _

_ Time seemed to skip, as the next moment he was being lifted back out of the car. How had they gotten there that quick? _

You’re not going to survive, Stiles.

_ Stiles told the voice to shut up. He didn’t care, he just wanted it to go away. _

If the cold doesn’t kill you, I will.

_ Then just fucking do it, already, he thought. Stop dragging it out. _

But that’s the fun part.

_ Stiles was placed on something hard, limbs jostled about until they were happy with his position. More voices joined the room, some yelling, others calming, but all too much. Was a little quiet too much to ask for? _

_ Just as the room was beginning to fall into some kind of peace, voices lowering and movement slowed, Stiles felt a deep pain in his chest, like someone stabbed him through the heart. _

_ Through the haze of his body and mind, he could feel himself convulsing. _

_ “What the hell is happening?” _

_ “Stiles! Stiles!” _

_ “Is it a seizure?” _

_ “What’s wrong with him? Mom! What’s wrong?” _

_ “I- I don’t know. I don’t know!” _

So much pain.

_ Stop it. _

So much pain, and you’re the cause of all of it.

_ Stop it! _

_ “We have to bite him.” _

_ “What? Derek, no! It could kill him!” _

_ “Look at him, he’s already dying!” _

_ The conversation faded, and Stiles could feel himself fading, too. _

_ He really was dying. Maybe it was for the best. _

_ There was a sharp yell, an even sharper pain in his wrist, and then nothing. _

 

___

 

Stiles woke with a gasp, eyes flying open and mind working in overdrive.

“You bit me,” he said the moment his eyes landed on Derek.

Derek only nodded, not looking guilty in the slightest. Stiles supposed he had no reason to feel guilty; he was trying to keep him alive, after all.

Still. Stiles expected to see something, some sort of acknowledgment that stiles was a werewolf.

Only, Stiles didn’t feel like a werewolf. He felt better than before, obviously, and he didn’t exactly know what being a wolf felt like, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t this.

No apparent super senses, for one thing. He couldn’t hear anything beyond Derek and his own heavy breathing. The scent of the clinic was no stronger than usual, and he knew for a fact that the werewolves could barely stand to be in the building because of the overpowering chemicals.

So, did the bite not take?

But, once again, no. That’s not right; if the bite doesn’t take, it kills you.

But it hadn’t killed Lydia, had it? And she wasn’t a werewolf, she was a banshee. And anyway, there was no wound on his arm, which meant it had healed.

So did that mean-?

“What am I?” he asked the room at large.

And, of course, it was Deaton who stepped forward. “You are not a werewolf, Mr. Stilinski. However, I believe that Derek’s bite awoke a latent part of you. I’ve known for a while that you have a spark of magic, barely enough to notice, but it would seem I severely underestimated it. You had quite the reservoir of magic lying in wait inside of you.”

“Magic. You’re saying I’m magic.”

“Yes, that would seem to be the case.”

Stiles fell back down against the table.

“Holy fuck.”

 

___

 

The rest of the day passed without much eventfulness. Stiles felt lighter than he had in weeks, both bodily and mentally. He hadn’t heard the voice once, nor had he had any unwelcome images make their home in his brain.

The pack came and went, trying to give him space but also needing to satisfy their own urges to check in on him. Stiles didn’t feel the need to push them away anymore. It was like a switch had been flipped.

He didn’t feel like he had before it all started, not by a longshot, but he felt like, with time, maybe he could.

Derek and his father were the ones to stick around the whole day, the others bringing food for them as well as Stiles. There seemed to be some sort of unspoken agreement that they needed to keep Stiles in their sights for the time being, and no one argued.

Peter stopped by a few times, which surprised Stiles. He hadn’t realized the older man cared so much. However, when the wolf asked him what happened in his bathroom, Stiles froze up. 

He couldn’t talk about that. Not yet.

Derek sent a threatening glare and growl his uncle’s way, but Peter didn’t seem to mean any harm. Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and the man calmed instantly, something that made Stiles’ heart warm. He locked eyes with Peter and something passed between them.

They would talk about it later. Stiles wasn’t sure when, but he had a feeling Peter would understand better than anyone.

Deaton also came to check on him frequently, as did Melissa. Apparently, after Derek had given Stiles the bite all hell had broke loose. Things went flying through the air, the temperature dropped by almost forty degrees, and- weirdly enough- a bunch of flies had flown from his mouth.

Deaton, Peter, and Lydia were looking into that now.

Stiles told them about the voice. Nothing specific, that could wait, but enough to help them in their search.

Derek grabbed hold of his hand every time someone asked Stiles to recount anything, and eventually he just stopped letting go, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Stiles’ palm.

It was nice.

Maybe the voice had been wrong. Maybe Derek did feel something back.

For now, though, he was okay with not knowing. He was okay with this.

He was okay. That in itself was a miracle. The rest could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, when Stiles eventually opens up to Peter and Derek about what exactly happened, including the voice telling him that Derek would never love him, Derek happily kisses away his doubts while Peter finally gets an idea of what might have happened to his favorite pack member and leaves them to it to go investigate.  
> He definitely doesn't want to be around for that, anyway.  
> -  
> Alrighty then, there it is?  
> I hope it was okay?  
> *enter sweating emoji here*  
> Comments and kudos make my life, just... so you know.


End file.
